Dancing with Fate
by CaptainRebeccaRobin
Summary: Freelance agent Amber Crowell is assigned by an anonymous caller to protect Sherlock Holmes from a danger they were both expecting. But it appears this caller has a larger game in mind. A string of murders brings Amber and Sherlock closer together... but it also brings them closer to a dangerous end. Pay attention; the clues are everywhere. The game, dear friends, is on.
1. Chapter 1: Dancing with Sherlock

Chapter 1: Dancing with Sherlock

* * *

Amber Crowell stood in the back of the extravagant charity ball, constantly checking a small silver watch wrapped around her wrist.

 _They should have been here by now._

Men and women crowded the ballroom floor for the couples dance as the lonely singles lingered on the outside. Amber had groaned when they announced the dance for pairs and shuffled over to the edge of room, hiding in the shadows. She was in clear view of the windows, so any attack from there would be easily spotted.

It was the ceiling she was worried about. She anxiously craned her neck to get a better view, but the glass sunroof was only visible from the center of the room. She would have waltzed her way over had it not looked so suspicious with her standing alone in the midst of a couples dance.

She tried not to be too worried. Amber still had a clear view of the tall man she was protecting without him noticing her too much. He also loomed awkwardly in the background, only a few feet away. Amber couldn't fathom why a man like him would go alone to a ball anyways. He didn't seem to like people very much. Although it was clear by the mud on his shoes that he didn't just lounge around at home much either. No, he was a working man and probably never stopped.

In all honesty, Amber had been rather intimidated when she got the anonymous call last week. She had gotten plenty of anonymous callers wishing to keep her job undercover before, but this one was different.

 _Amber sat on her bed, the telly on and a half empty bottle sitting on her nightstand. She nearly jumped when the telephone rang, reaching for the gun lying next to her. She calmed herself down and picked up the phone._

" _Hello?"_

 _A distorted voice answered her. "I need you to do something for me."_

 _Amber paused, waiting for the voice to continue._

" _On Friday night there will be a charity ball, hosted by the royal family. An armed and trained group of ten men plan to storm the ball and take all the money. They will succeed if you don't stop them."_

" _And how exactly am I supposed to get into this ball?" Amber asked, crossing her arms._

" _An invitation has already been delivered to your front door." Amber started to stand to confirm what the voice had told her. "No, don't get up. Leave it until I finish."_

 _Amber paused mid-stand, hovering over the bed. "You're..watching me?"_

 _The voice didn't answer. "One more thing. These men plan to kill a certain figure of interest of mine. He will also be at the ball, for reasons unnecessary for you to know. Your duty is to protect this man from getting harmed. Perhaps you know of him. Sherlock Holmes?"_

 _Amber's breath caught in her throat. Of course she knew of Sherlock Holmes. Who_ didn't _know Sherlock Holmes? He was on national television nearly all the time, solving one important case after the other._

 _The voice continued. "Like I assumed. You will receive a hefty sum of money for completing your duties, and remain undetected if possible."_

 _Amber sat back down in confusion. "And how do I know I can trust you?"_

" _Amber dear," the voice said, "you can't. But you can agree to my arrangement or…" The voice trailed off as a red dot moved to Amber's chest from her window. Several other red specks followed suit, all aimed for her chest. There must have been at least a dozen guns ready to_ _shoot._

" _So," she could almost hear the voice giving a menacing smile, "do we have an agreement?"_

" _Agreed," she breathed. The red lasers moved off her chest one by one, until all were gone._

 _What had she gotten herself into?_

Amber shook her head and rubbed her temples. She desperately needed a drink, but wouldn't let herself slip off when this anonymous caller could be watching her at any time. She opted for water instead, keeping her head down and an eye on Sherlock as she made her way to an eloquently displayed table in the back. She reached down for a cup, checking to make sure it wasn't spiked and quickly downed the refreshment.

It appeared as if Sherlock needed something to drink as well. He ducked behind the crowd and walked over to the table, picking up two champagne glasses from a nearby waiter. Amber turned her back to him, pretending to focus on the couples dancing. _Undetected._

A hand tapped her shoulder and Amber whipped around only to see Sherlock Holmes himself standing before her. "Care for a drink?" He said with a forced smile, offering a glass to her.

Quickly Amber grazed her eyes over his figure. His hands were shaking subtly, so he was either in need of drugs or already high. His shoes had old mud on them, but she had already detected that. A gun was almost completely hidden under his dress coat- which was fairly new, by the way, perhaps only worn once or twice.

Amber finally raised her eyes to his and shook her head. "No thank you, I don't drink."

"Yes, you do. That's evident by the way you have been glancing at drinks all night." Sherlock said rather matter-of-factly. He drank the first glass and grimaced at the taste.

Amber pulled on a facade, giggling and leaning close to Sherlock as if to tell him a secret. "Alright, you caught me," Amber put a hand to her mouth, giggling. "I'm actually pregnant. But don't tell anyone!"

She snuck a glance toward the ceiling, but still wasn't able to see anything.

"No, you're not," he said, correcting her once again and finished the second glass he had grabbed for her.

Amber was about to protest, but Sherlock interrupted her. "Look, I need you to dance with me. You're the only one in this room who seems even remotely intellectually competent and I won't disregard the fact that you have been glancing my way all night, so consider this your lucky chance to dance with the infamous Sherlock Holmes."

Before Amber could get a word in, Sherlock grabbed her arm and pulled her to the edge of the crowd dancing. She would have pulled away but… this might work to her advantage. An easy way to keep an eye on Sherlock and the perfect view of all entrances the attackers could come through. He gripped her hand and led her through the room, knowing each of the steps by heart. Amber struggled to keep up. He wasn't even making eye contact with her; clearly there was something else intriguing in this room and she was just a pawn to get there. Then again, she was using him just the same.

As he pulled her through the dance floor to the dead center of the room, her lavender dress sweeping the floor elegantly, she had to stifle a laugh.

Sherlock turned his icy blue eyes to look at her, obviously irritated to be pulled out of whatever trance he was in. "What is it?"

"You're a dancer, Sherlock Holmes," she said, struggling to get the words out without giggling. It was quite the thought. The raging drug-fueled detective standing before her had more precise feet than any professional dancer.

His brows furrowed. "Of course I'm a dancer. I'm dancing right now."

"No," Amber shook her head, using the opportunity to survey the room, "I mean you grew up dancing. Six or seven years of experience at the least, I'd say."

Sherlock only had a chance to glance at her before the sound of glass cracking echoed throughout the room under the waltzing music.

"Everyone get down NOW!" It was the only thing Amber had time to yell before the glass dome shattered.

Screams echoed around them as bodies fell to the floor, covering their heads. Sherlock and Amber did the same. Shards flew everywhere. Amber looked up in time to see a large chunk falling towards Sherlock's head. In seconds, Amber pulled out her gun that was holstered under her dress. She whipped her arm around, using the butt end of the gun to smash the larger chunk into a billion of harmless pieces.

Sherlock only blinked at her before she stood up, ripping off her dress to reveal a black ensemble complete with a belt of weapons. Sherlock stood too, brushing off the glass. People around her murmured in fear at her change of costume, some whispering the word "spy".

 _Close enough_ , she thought, turning to wink at Sherlock who was looking at the now open ceiling. Under the blanket of night, she saw ropes snaking down from the open dome and leading to the ballroom. Amber positioned herself between the money donated and the ropes. She counted the figures. _One, two, three… No! There are only eight._ She highly doubted the other two just skipped out. No, they were in here somewhere. But she had no time to lose.

Amber calmly spoke to the ballroom. "I highly suggest you make your way to the exit while you can."

Those words set off a chain reaction. People screamed and called out as they ran towards the double doors. Amber shook her head, refocusing her attention on the eight. One had already climbed down.

"'Ello lovely," the burly man grinned, viciously barring a rifle.

"Hello," Amber said, returning the grin.

Amber ran up to him, grabbing his shoulders and pulling his head down until her knee rammed into his face. Any smile he had on was quickly wiped off. His unconscious body fell to the floor. Another man ran behind her left side, hoping to hit her from behind. She turned around quickly, grabbing his rifle and yanked it out of his hands, using it to shove into his gut and smack his face, sending his body tumbling down to the floor.

She was halfway through dismantling number five when she heard a high-pitched scream. The exit doors had been locked, and the dancers crowded in fear around them. Two large men closed in on them.

 _I guess that's where the other two are._

She set off at a sprint towards the closest man, wrapping her hand around his neck. He dropped his rifle, reaching his hands up to his neck a second too late. He collapsed to the floor. His similarly-built buddy turned at the noise and ran towards her, pausing for a moment.

"You're...you're a woman," he said.

Amber punched him across the jaw, and he placed his hand across his face, his disbelief quickly turning into rage.

"Are you kidding me?" Amber exclaimed, deftly swiping a low blow to his groin. "It's 2017 people. Time to grow up." A swift kick had him to the ground.

"You're safe now," she said to the wide-eyed crowd. "Look away while I dispatch the rest, if you must."

She turned with a smirk on her face back towards where she had left Sherlock. Her grin quickly dropped. Two men were holding down Sherlock while the last made his way to the donation box. Amber had to admire Sherlock for a moment. If anything, he seemed more calm than before.

Now it was Sherlock's turn to wink at her. He dislodged his arm, punching one of his captors across the face and kicking him in the stomach. He rammed his head into his other captor, quickly releasing himself and knocking both unconscious.

She suppressed a grin as she faced the last man who was busy trying to empty the donation box, Sherlock standing next to her, barely fazed.

"Give yourself up. You're the last one. Let's not make this harder than it is," Amber crooned. The man rose a pistol at her, but she quickly rose her own. "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

The man only grinned at her, and aimed his pistol at Sherlock instead. He pulled the trigger.

"No!" Amber yelled, diving in front of this man she barely knew.

Pain rippled through her and she crumpled to the floor, blood pooling out from her wound. She felt hands put pressure on her shoulder and stared into those icy blue eyes before blacking out.

* * *

 **AN: Thank you for reading my first chapter of Dancing with Fate. Please review and let me know how you feel about it. Was it too fast? Not clear? Not enough descriptions? Thank you! Much much more is in store for this pair, and I'm really excited to share it with you all.**

 ***minor changes made to punctuation that I missed after publishing. Thank you :)***


	2. Chapter 2: Back to Square One

**Author's Note: Hey guys, I'm sorry it took me forever to write the next chapter. School got intense, my old laptop broke and things were crazy. But I'm back now with this chapter, a coffee (black, two sugars of course) and a new laptop. Thank you so much for reviewing and favoriting/following, I really wasn't expecting any responses! Please continue to give feedback, and I hope you enjoy this next chapter :)**

Chapter 2: Back to Square One

"You mean to tell me she disposed of all those men by herself?" John Watson asked.

"No," Sherlock scoffed, "I took out two myself."

"Yes, but nonetheless, you would have been dead or kidnapped had she not been there," Mycroft told his brother. "Despite her _act of kindness_ I want both of you to beware. She was a deadly weapon five years ago and I'd bet she still is."

The three of them stood in a cold room in one of the lower levels of a building under Mycroft's control. A hospital bed lay in the center, the beeping of the heart monitor consistent. Amber was unconscious, dressed in a drab hospital gown. She had a few bandages wrapped around her arms from where the glass cut her, but to the untrained eye she seemed a peaceful sleeping beauty. She stirred slightly, her brown curls laid out across the pillow barely moving.

Sherlock sneaked to the back of the room as John and Mycroft jumped to her bed, John leaning to see if she had awaken while Mycroft stood impatiently with his arms crossed. Amber's green eyes flittered open. She didn't move as she frantically surveyed the room.

"Where am I?" She breathed out.

All she could see was a slightly gray haired but otherwise neat looking man leaning over her face. A doctor, she presumed, but he had a strangely familiar face. Other than that, she couldn't tell much else. The room was fairly empty. She knew she was lying in some sort of rarely-used hospital room, and to her right the heart monitor gave the only sound. The man stood up, marking something on a clipboard and nodding to someone she couldn't see. When he wasn't looking she slid a hand down to her upper leg, searching for the knife she usually kept strapped there. It was gone, and she was defenseless.

A new face walked into view. "Miss Amber Crowell."

Amber sat straight up, wincing as pain coursed through her shoulder. "Mycroft? What the hell am I doing here?"

"It appears you've been shot," he paused, looking into the corner of the room she couldn't see, "saving my little brother."

Slowly from the shadows, a tall man wearing a large coat and a blue scarf walked into view. Amber recognized him immediately, staring for a moment into those blue eyes, which almost seemed green in the harsh light.

"Right. Sherlock Holmes is your brother." She rubbed her temples as if trying to recall something. "I should've remembered they mentioned that on the news once," she said, pausing to look at the third gray-haired man. "Ah, then you must be Dr. John Watson. Are you the one responsible for patching me up?"

John looked a bit uncomfortable as he answered, "Yes, that would be me."

Amber nodded her thanks.

Mycroft crossed his arms. "What were you doing at that charity ball, Amber? You drop off the face of the earth for five years and now we see you strolling about like your golden days. You obviously knew those men would be there. What was your mission this time? Why risk it all?"

Amber forced herself to sit back up, looking Mycroft in the eyes and avoiding Sherlock's gaze, answering, "You know I can't tell you that, Mycroft."

John was the one to ask the next question. "An oath of secrecy?"

Amber simply blinked, willing her face into neutrality.

"It's not that she won't tell," said Sherlock, stepping forward. "It's that she can't tell."

Mycroft began to protest, but Amber held up an uninjured hand. "No, he's right. Even if I wanted to tell you I couldn't. I didn't even have a choice with this mission. It was this or my life. I don't even know who assigned me my mission, or why. What I can tell you won't help."

"Tell us what you know anyways," pushed Mycroft.

Amber sighed, laying back down and closing her eyes. "I was watching whatever was on the news. The phone rang and a distorted voice answered," she said, retelling everything up to when the men had attacked. "There were eight of them at first. The other two threatened the crowd. I took down seven easily, then I turned around and Sherlock was caught by two but he winked and-"

"Wait," John interrupted, bewildered. "Sherlock _winked_ at you?" He gave a sidelong glance at Sherlock who suddenly seemed very interested with the floor.

Amber continued, "Then nine were down and one was left. I swear, it all seemed too easy. Men with their training shouldn't have been taken down so quickly." Her voice trailed off as her brows furrowed, contemplating something. "Anyways, you all know the rest of the story. A gun was fired at Sherlock and... I took the bullet."

Mycroft looked between Sherlock and Amber. "Is there anyone looking to kill either of you?"

"Yes," they both answered unflinchingly.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Big brother, when has there not been people trying to kill me? I can imagine Amber could say the same."

Amber didn't move her head from the pillow as she said, "It's too easy. I could just be overestimating the skills of those men but… something seemed off. Like it was planned for us to win."

Sherlock put a hand to his chin as he nodded. The room was silent, no one really sure what to say.

It was Mycroft who interrupted the silence. "We should be off anyways. You have a lot of resting up to do. I'll have my investigative team look into this situation. Our conversation isn't over, Amber. You still have a lot to explain since we last saw each other five years ago."

Amber didn't respond as they walked out of the room, Sherlock trailing in the back. He looked over his shoulder, and she could've sworn he winked before walking out.

"Amber didn't seem like the deadly weapon Mycroft made her out to be," John said over his newspaper.

Sherlock sat in his armchair, eyes closed and a half-empty coffee mug sitting nearby. His palms were folded against his chest and anyone who didn't know him would believe he was sleeping. John Watson knew otherwise, and debated with him about this particular case.

"She's smarter than she looks," Sherlock said. "And well trained from what I could tell."

"Do you know her story? Where she comes from and all that? Mycroft said she had been gone for five years." John asked.

"She obviously worked for Mycroft at one point. She still considers him a boss. She wasn't fired, no. She ran away. And now she's back."

John nodded his head, wondering why Mycroft considered her such a dangerous asset.

"It doesn't make sense," Sherlock thought aloud.

"What doesn't?" John asked, turning the page of his paper.

"Everything," he said, opening his eyes and speaking far too quickly. "She- Amber, I mean- gets a call, clearly from someone who doesn't want to be known. Then she gets threatened to be killed unless she protects _me_. And that's implying I needed protection. Then the men show up and are easily defeated. Yet Amber gets shot in my place. And she was right. It's too simple."

John stopped to look at Sherlock, always the cautious one. "Are you sure you're not overthinking this, Sherlock?"

Sherlock closed his eyes again. "Overthinking is what I do."

He sat there for a while, thinking until the hour was late and John was fast asleep. Quietly Sherlock went into his room, scrawled something on a piece of paper and pulled out a box. He gently pulled out a needle and filled it, laying back on his bed as he plunged the needle into his forearm.

He needed it so bad. It had taken forever for John to go to sleep. And this case was getting to him.

He drifted in and out of a consciousness and a dreamlike state for the rest of the night. His high wore off before the sun rose and he managed to get a few worthless hours of sleep. Sherlock woke up a few hours later, blinking at the sunlight streaming through his blinds, rolling over and covering himself with his sheets.

Not enough sleep, not enough drugs, not enough answers.

Groggily he sat on the edge of his bed, running his hands through his hair and reaching for his phone. He had one message.

 _Questioning Amber Crowell today. Come if you like._

 _MH_

"John!" Sherlock called. "We're meeting Mycroft. Be ready in an hour."

Amber tried not to look bored as the three men stood before her. She sat in an uncomfortable chair as if she were a suspect in a case while Mycroft sat across for her, arms folded and legs crossed. Her shoulder still throbbed but the painkillers she was given helped a bit, although she really wouldn't mind a glass of whiskey. She still hadn't been given her weapons but they were nice enough to give her a change of clothes.

"Well? What do you want to know Mycroft?"

"Do you remember when I last saw you Amber?" Mycroft asked.

Amber didn't answer.

"Of course you remember. You're almost as bad as him," Mycroft said, pointing a finger at Sherlock who raised his hands innocently.

"Yes, I remember. It was you, me, and more pounds than I've seen in my life," Amber sighed.

"And you were entrusted with protecting it. But instead you ran away with the money and were never seen again. Our best men couldn't even find you," finished Mycroft.

"Should've asked Sherlock to do it," Amber mumbled.

Sherlock let out a low laugh but quickly shut up when John jabbed him in the side.

Mycroft glowered and uncrossed his legs. "Where did the money go?"

Amber groaned. "What does it matter? It was five years ago. Five. The money is long gone now."

Mycroft stared at her. "Of course it matters. What happened to your pride, Amber? Why throw it all away? For money?"

Amber didn't answer, staring back just as harshly.

Sherlock, who had been lingering against the back wall, stepped forward. "The money is long gone, but not in your wallet. No, you are living in a worse condition than before."

Amber quirked an eyebrow, questioning him.

"Your clothes," he said. "Your black suit from the night before. It had deep creases that strained the fabric, meaning it has been folded for a long time. Surely if you had the money a well-made piece like that would be hanging up in some extravagant closet, but it wasn't, was it? And your place, it's not very big either. You only have one window, clearly visible from the street since this mysterious person was able to get easy aim. Any money you had taken clearly wasn't spent on luxury."

Sherlock paused, looking to see Amber's reaction. But she simply sat there, not even making eye contact as she picked at her nails. Slowly she looked up, waiting for him to continue.

Sherlock was a bit taken aback but kept talking. "We could _assume_ you spent it all away foolishly, but I believe you're smarter than that. You felt that you had to take this money, either to pay someone back or pay for your freedom."

"Is this true?" asked Mycroft.

Amber didn't say anything for a while. She swore under her breath and faced Mycroft. "Yes. It's true. I don't have any of the money." She sighed and lowered her gaze, "A German spy threatened to bomb the place unless I gave him all of it."

"You always have a choice. You could have told me-"

"Damn it Mycroft! I would have gotten out of the situation if I wanted to. You know that. I would have never walked away from this place if I had a choice. Do you really think I asked for this? He had the entire place bombed. If I had simply thought of telling a soul in this department, we would be dead before you could yell at me." Amber unclenched her fists and folded them in her lap, staring at the floor.

Sherlock looked at her. "What did they do to you, Amber?"

Amber matched his gaze. "What?"

"They betrayed you," he said in a more serious tone than she'd heard before. "You gave them the money and they took you away."

Amber looked away. "They.. I tried to fight them off. But they knocked me out with something after taking the money, and I woke up in a cell. They threatened me, starved me and beat me until I worked with them. They knew I was smarter than I let on, and had me solve various cases, things their own men couldn't solve. Four years I _rot_ in that place, not knowing who was alive and who was dead and who was looking for me. I escaped last year. They still try to find me."

"Dear God..." muttered Mycroft.

"Let's go, Sherlock," John said, pulling his friend out of the room. "These two have a lot of talking to do."

Amber explained everything to Mycroft. How they treated her, took advantage of her, didn't feed her. Beat her when she got a case wrong, however rarely. She had tried explaining she was nothing more than a government agent but they never believed her. She did what she had to do to survive. And when she got out… there was no point in going back to where she was before. Everyone thought her a traitor. She picked up small jobs here and there, working as a secretary or a janitor, or sometimes an assassin for wealthy nobodies, all the while destroying herself from the inside.

"I will always regret that day, Mycroft. I never wanted to betray you or the government," Amber said sincerely.

Mycroft thought for a moment. "I want you back on my team, Amber."

"What?"

"This place needs you. Sherlock would never work for us," he insisted.

"Everyone will think of me as a traitor. There's no point in going back," Amber protested.

"There is a point if you'll find one," Mycroft said, standing from his chair. "Think about it. Your clothes and weapons are in the room to your left. The exit is a hallway down."

He opened the door and looked back. "Good day, Amber."

Amber couldn't believe her ears. She slowly got up and walked out. As she put back on her old clothes and strapped on her weapons, she stared at herself in the mirror.

"Back to square one."


	3. Chapter 3: Welcome Back

**AN: Anyone surprised I put an actual chapter up? Oops.**

Chapter 3: Welcome Back

Amber stood in the back of the debriefing room with the rest of Mycroft's personal investigative team. She lingered, not willing to step forward and make conversation. She had already endured many glares and whispers behind her back. Phantom voices of how she betrayed the team haunted her everywhere she went.

What she wouldn't give for a drink right now.

Meanwhile, Sherlock was just waking up over at 221B Baker Street.

"Afternoon, John," he said, pouring himself a cup of tea.

John looked over at him from his computer. "Have you been asleep this whole time?"

Sherlock ignored him and peered over John's shoulder at the computer screen. "' _Although he won't admit it, Sherlock seems to have taken a liking to Miss Amber_ '? John what kind of writing are you trying to publish here? I have not 'taken a liking' to anyone."

John laughed a bit and moved his computer screen away from Sherlock. "I knew you would read it so I wanted to see what your reaction would be. I'm not going to publish it."

Sherlock stood straight and looked between John and the computer. "Did you just perform an experiment on me?"

John looked over his shoulder with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. "I believe I did."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow but went back to his tea. His phone buzzed with a message.

 _Woman murdered on Durward St._

 _Brutal case, I think you would like it._

"Looks like we have another case on our hands," Sherlock said aloud.

John was already looking at his phone. "Yeah, Lestrade texted me too. Ready to go?"

Sherlock didn't care that he was still wearing yesterday's clothes. Or that he had slept in them. "I'm always ready, John."

Amber stood on the outskirts of the crime scene, as directed by Mycroft. No one knew of his personal private investigative team besides the best of Scotland Yard. Mycroft had instructed her to not get involved in this one, just pretend she was an officer and not interfere with the case until people started trusting her again.

She eyed the scene. It was a gruesome murder. Worse than the most of the ones she'd scene before.

"Welcome back, Amber," she muttered to herself.

The poor woman had been slit across the throat so deep you could nearly see bone. If that wasn't enough, a jagged wound ran through her stomach, and several cuts to her side. Amber grimaced, inching a little closer to the scene of the crime, pulling her hat low over her face. Two amateur cops loudly spoke their thoughts aloud, making it difficult for Amber to think.

"I'll tell ya what happened," cried one. "This woman got in a domestic with her husband and she walked out on him. He followed her and got a little handsy and swiped her clean across the throat, disembowelin' her in a anger-fueled rage."

"No way, you've got it all wrong!" replied the other. "She owed someone money, for sure. One of those street gangs, no doubt. From buying drugs, most likely, but she wasn't paying up. The man warned her of course but she refused so he disemboweled her _first_ and then cut up her throat. It's as clear as that."

Amber snorted and then quickly covered her mouth, hiding her face from the men.

"Oh what, you think you know something better, miss?" called the first man.

Amber turned, the faintest of smirks resting upon her face. "I'm not here to cause any trouble. But give me a minute and I'm sure I can prove both of you wrong."

The second man waved his arm forward, daring her to make her best guess. She turned back around to the bloody scene, already knowing more than both of them.

"First off, there most likely wasn't an attack from a husband, or a wife for that matter. There is no ring, but if you look closely she has a fading tan line around her finger. I imagine she's been divorced or separated for half a year now. Also there is little sign of a struggle, other than the obvious injuries, so whoever did this to her was someone she either didn't see coming or-"

"Or someone who she didn't have a reason not to trust," a voice said, cutting her off.

Amber turned to the intruder. "Oh. I wasn't really expecting to see you again."

"That's a shame. John, are you coming?"

The shorter doctor, who was back a bit talking to a dark-haired officer about the murder, waved Sherlock off. The conversing officer frowned in disgust when seeing Sherlock. John said his goodbyes and walked over.

"Miss Cromwell. Are you here to survey the crime scene?" John asked.

"Yes. Mycroft invited me back on his team, although the others don't know that," she responded, lowering her voice.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow but quickly seem disinterested, pulling away from the conversation and dipping under the yellow tape Amber had been so careful to not cross. John shrugged and followed suit.

"Coming?" Sherlock said.

Amber looked around before realizing he was talking to her. "Oh- Uh, yes," she stuttered.

Sherlock and John didn't wait up. The tall detective was already leaning over the dead body, stating things aloud to John who bounced back ideas quickly. She stood behind the duo, taking mental notes of everything she could see.

"She was on her way to meet a client," Sherlock said.

"Client?" asked John.

Amber was the one who stepped in. "She was a prostitute. More common than you think."

John wasn't fazed by her quick wits. "So was it the client that attacked her?"

"No," Sherlock and Amber answered at the same time. They gave each other a short glance at the unconventional synchronism.

"Perhaps an old friend, then?" John asked, looking between Amber and Sherlock.

Sherlock squinted at the body. "Perhaps."

Amber turned to a nearby officer. "Have there been any reports of a murder similar to this one in the past year or so?"

The officer scoffed. "I think I would have remembered something similar to this. No, this seems to be an isolated crime. This is nothing we've seen before."

Amber thanked the officer and squatted next to the body, a confused look on her face. John looked at her curiously.

"This case seems so familiar," she said, to answer his questioning looks. "I know there hasn't been anything recently… but it seems like a repeat. I can't quite place it," Amber said. Sherlock nodded his agreement.

"And look here," John added, pointing around the body where blood faintly stained the ground. "The amount of blood there is does not add up to the amount of blood there should be."

Amber crossed her arms, biting her lip in thought. She closed her eyes, sliding through potential motives and attackers that could be related to this crime. Before she could think any more, a man with graying hair trotted up to the scene, letting out a sigh once seeing Sherlock. The dark-haired officer John was speaking to earlier followed suit, clearly not happy to be here. Amber squinted at the officer's name tag and saw "ANDERSON" engraved on the plate.

"Any theories?" asked the graying man.

"Lestrade, good to see you again," John said, grimacing at the body. "Hello to you as well, Anderson."

"Nine," said Sherlock.

Philip Anderson and Greg Lestrade both turned to Sherlock. "Nine what?" Greg asked.

"Theories. Nine theories as to what happened," he replied, not looking up from the body.

Greg's eyes widened, looking at Sherlock for some explanation of this brown-haired girl. "And who might you be, exactly?" he asked.

Amber looked at the ground, knowing she had crossed the line Mycroft told her not to cross. She opened her mouth, ready to give some excuse before Sherlock cut her off.

"A colleague of mine," Sherlock said, hardly caring for minor details. "She's with me."

"I see," Lestrade said. "Well, what do you know so far?"

Sherlock reeled off what he knew while John and Amber stood around the body.

Amber sniffed the air. "Is there a pub nearby that you know of?" she said to John.

John raised an eyebrow. "I hardly think now is the time for a drink, but I-"

"No, that's not what I meant. Don't you smell that? Smells almost like a brewery."

The doctor turned up his nose and nodded his agreement. "You're right. I wonder what Sherlock will think of that."

Amber snorted, "I'm sure he already noticed." John gave her a strange look and looked back at the body.

"She's got blood in her hair. Look at how it dried," John mentioned, pointing to the woman's stained hair. "But then you look at the ground and there's little to nothing.

"So she was killed somewhere else? And then the killer dragged her out in the open for anyone to see? That makes no sense," Amber replied. "It's like they wanted everyone to see it."

John looked at the body gravely. "Perhaps they did."

Lestrade ordered from behind them,"Anderson, follow up with the forensics team and get as many pictures as you can. Tell Sergeant Donovan to block off Durward Street and any passageways into it. I don't want this getting out to the press just yet." He faced Sherlock, "I'll get Molly's coronary report to you when it comes. Be in touch."

Sherlock nodded, already lost in thought. He circled the body as Lestrade walked away. The tall man stooped low, covered the woman's hand with his cloak, and gently pulled something out of her grip. He hesitated, looking at her injuries for a moment more. Amber watched as he swiftly stood up, tucking whatever he found into his coat pocket and walked away from the crime scene.

"John, get a taxi."

John began walking away before giving a half-hearted wave to Amber. Sherlock hardly noticed, his mind too distracted with whatever he had found in the dead woman's hand.

Amber drifted slowly away from the crime scene, watching the duo climb into the cab out of the corner of her eye. A small part of her felt tugged towards them, but she held back and simply watched them go. She looked up and saw a street camera moving slowly around the scene.

"I know that's you watching me, Mycroft," she muttered, smiling at the camera and giving it a big thumbs up. The camera paused on her and she just rolled her eyes. "I promise I won't get involved with this case." The camera lingered on her for a moment longer, then moved on.

When she turned around again, Sherlock and John were long gone. _No point in standing around here, I guess._ She walked to the edge the street to where Donovan was busy blocking the road. Tucking her hat over her face, Amber began assisting the other officers where she could. Every once in a while she would look back at the scene of the crime and wonder about the dead woman, now long gone.

She soon realized she was the only one from Mycroft's team still there. His team was extensive but invisible, and only those who knew of it would be able to pick out its members. He kept them around to make sure everything was going smoothly where he couldn't see. Mycroft probably would do just as well without them, Amber realized, but assumed he had his reasons. While thinking this over, she searched through her pockets for some money for a taxi, only to turn up empty.

Amber sighed and began the walk back to her flat. Slowly it started to drizzle. Amber groaned and walked a little faster, eventually making it to her place but still managing to get soaking wet. She sighed, throwing her coat on the floor and shaking out her hair. She was about to change when her telephone rang. Amber froze, sitting herself gently on the bed where she could see the window, and picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

The distorted voice from before answered back. "How's your shoulder?"

A phantom pain coursed through her arm. "I've been through worse."

"I am calling to inform you that the money I promised is on your sofa."

Amber looked and, sure enough, a briefcase lay on her sofa. She shook her head in disbelief.

"Unless you don't want it, of course."

Amber stood up and walked towards her window, peering the curtain back and looking out across the empty street. "What do you want from me?"

"Aren't you curious who I am?"

"Should I be?" she retorted, searching the streets for any sign of life.

"Oh come on, Amber. Have you gotten so rusty this past year that you can't make a simple deduction?"

Her breath caught in her throat. She realized there was only one person this could be, only one person who knew her so well a year ago. "I- I thought that-"

The voice laughed. "Did you really think you could escape for good? You're lucky I let you go as long as I did. Don't you miss your ol' dad?"

"You are not my father, Moran," she said firmly. "You never will be."

The man clicked his tongue, a habit Amber had grown to disgust. "You lied to Mycroft."

"I did not lie," she said, scanning the rooftops.

"You _enjoyed_ the work you did for me. I gave you what Mycroft never could. Freedom. A chance to really use your skills, and not let them rot for trivial things."

Amber cast her eyes to the floor. He was not lying. She hated it at first but, as time went on, she realized she was able to do things she wasn't before. Mycroft was always so cautious of his men turning on him, so he rarely used them for the good work. But with Moran… she was in the field, taking down anyone that threatened Moran's line of business. She was doing _real_ jobs, even investigating the royal family. Moran never got into the details of what the information was for, just that he was smuggling it out. He always said it was for the good of the country.

How stupid she was. Moran never cared about anyone except for himself, let alone the good of the country. He would sell any one of his men out in seconds, even for the slightest bit of info. It wasn't until he got arrested for smuggling information to terrorist groups that she began to realize his true nature.

Amber just listened to the sounds of the streets. "Will you answer my questions?" She paused, waiting for a response. "Why bother protecting the money for the charity ball?"

"An enemy of mine, one your little friend Sherlock dismantled, is dead. For that, I can be grateful. But his network, however small, seeks revenge. They've resorted to miniscule things, like taking money. It's a pity, really," he said. "I have a friend in the east who wanted to make sure they did not succeed."

Amber took a breath. "And Sherlock? Why do you care if he lives or dies?"

"The same network wished to kill Sherlock. With his existence, they stand no chance to rise to the power they once were. Unfortunately, if Sherlock dies then the information he knows dies with him, and I'm afraid I can't let that happen. Not yet."

Amber scoffed into the phone.

He continued, "I'll let this little hide-and-seek game of yours go on for a little while, at least until the real game begins. Then you'll see how much you need me. Goodbye for now, little Amber. You haven't heard the last of me."

Amber let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding in.

"Oh, and one more thing," Moran said. "Let's keep this little conversation between ourselves. We wouldn't want any," he paused as a read beam focused on her chest, "casualties, would we?"

Amber nodded, finally seeing a sniper in a window across the street, too far away for her to make out a face. The phone call ended and she slowly lowered her hands down, remaining motionless until the target on her chest disappeared.

She leapt off the bed as soon as she got the chance, running to the bathroom, nausea threatening to climb up her throat. Amber heaved over the toilet, sweat dripping off her face. The pungent smell of vomit filled her nose. Shaking, she flushed the toilet and slowly stood up to rinse her face in the sink. She stared in the mirror, looking at the water dripping down her flushed face. Even the thought of Moran calling her again made her feel like she would hurl.

In haste, she rolled up her left sleeve and grimaced at the tattoo staining her wrist. A black skull and crossbones laughed menacingly at her, claiming her as one of them, permanently marking her to Moran.

 _There was no escaping him this time._

 **AN: I would really love to hear feedback. This story is just as much for you as it is for me. Let me know what you did/didn't understand, and where you see the story going! I know this chapter didn't have very much Sherlock, but I promise you there is a lot of juicy scenes to come. Thank you for reading!**

 **Edited later to clarify some weird wording.**


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